A/N: This fic is so long overdue? It's beyond funny...and initially, I had intended on delving deeper into a couple of the episodes covered here...and maybe in the future I will. But for now, it's been getting harder to fit Sabbath in as Season 5 wound up, cause things got so damn tough for the boys. Having said that? I do have a plan for where my finale will go and I'll probably cover the rest of the season in the next fic I write for this verse. Hopefully? I'm still doing this verse justice and not selling the characters short...because the new season has really thrown my muse into a tail spin.
Okay, last thing before I shut the hell up and let you all read. A HUGE shout out to Manda, for kicking my butt to write this...and to Deb and Tara for listening to me gripe about how much my muse struggled to find it's voice. All in all...I hope it was worth it. Feedback is love people...it does make the muse stronger. Like believing in fairies. LOL
Okay, on with the show...
xXx
Everything was coming back in pieces. Hazy, filled with searing, thumping pain and the pungent odour of a hunter. All gun oil, cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol.
The taste of blood was thick on his tongue, the smell of death hanging heavy in the air, over-riding the hunter scent that had invaded his senses before. With a low whine, Sabbath slowly lifted his head to find that he couldn't see out of one eye. It was swollen shut, a long gash in his muzzle the reason for the taste of blood in his mouth. What had happened? It hurt to think.
In flashes of memory, it began to seep through at last. Sabbath recalled hearing the door handle to the motel room turning slowly. He had crept forward, ready to confront whoever walked in. But they'd been prepared for him, the butt of a shot gun slamming through the door as it opened, connecting once – twice with Sabbath's face, sending him to the floor out cold.
Lifting a paw, Sabbath clawed at his muzzle, trying to make the pain stop. Wishing the throbbing behind his eye would just go away. His dew claw caught the ragged gash just behind his nose and a startled yelp echoed around the room. The yelp died off to a softer, solemn whimper as Sabbath shook himself and got to his feet, looking for his masters. The room was too quiet and that horrid smell of death still hung in the air.
The moment Sabbath saw the two beds in the room, he knew why.
Putting one paw in front of the other slowly, full of hesitation, Sabbath approached the beds, his heart already sinking. Sam was lying sprawled backwards on one, his shirt drenched in blood and peppered with holes. The scent of gunpowder clung to him, his eyes closed, pale and utterly lifeless.
Dean was sprawled on the other and Sabbath nudged his hand where it hung off the bed, wishing for it to move, for Dean to sit up and complain about Sabbath's wet nose touching him. Dean's eyes were half open, but they were utterly lifeless as Sabbath gently half climbed onto the bed and began to frantically lick at his master's face. He had to wake up. Sabbath needed him. He needed both his masters. His pack. His family.
Dragging the rest of himself up carefully on the bed, Sabbath laid down alongside Dean and let out a mournful, heartbroken howl before he laid his head down on his front paws. Calling for the one friend that Sabbath knew could help him right now. The only one he could trust to hear him. He had failed somehow. Failed to protect his pack and now all he could do was guard them in death. No one would take his masters from him. Not without losing an appendage or two.
The air stirred suddenly, the sound of wings unfolding before a deep, welcome voice met Sabbath's ears. "I'm here."
Sabbath lifted his head, a pitiful whine leaving him as his large brown eyes begged his friend to fix this. To make it better again.
Castiel stepped forward, frowning as he took in Sabbath's appearance. "You are injured." He reached out without thinking, intent on healing Sabbath, his outstretched hand lowering as his fingers curled into a fist. Healing was beyond Castiel now that he was cut off. He would have to rely on human methods, turning to walk to the bathroom and returning with a first aid kit in his hand. "I lack the skills of your humans, but I can at least attempt to offer you some comfort."
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Castiel dug through the kit, picking up various tubes of ointment and bandages. He had no real idea where to even begin, but there was enough pain in Sabbath's eyes already. He felt compelled to remove at least as much of the physical pain as he could. Daubing a large amount of some foul smelling ointment on Sabbath's nose and muzzle, he covered the wounds as best he could with some strange square patches of fabric that seemed to stick in place. It would hopefully offer the help he wanted to, and at the very least, the wounds were now covered. Another larger square of fabric was gently laid over Sabbath's swollen eye, although this time Castiel refrained from applying the ointment, noting on the packaging that it wasn't recommended to be placed near the eyes.
Sabbath whined quietly and laid his head on Castiel's leg, his good eye watching the angel with a desperate, pleading look.
" I will do what I can." Castiel assured the dog. "Keep them safe..."
With that, he was gone and Sabbath sighed sadly and laid down beside Dean's body again, nuzzling his master softly before he huffed out a whine and closed his eyes, hoping to to ease the throbbing pain inside his head...
"Well...this is it." Dean sounded anything but enthused as he looked down on the unconscious figure of Castiel sprawled out on the bed before him. Sabbath was sat beside Dean, his head cocked to one side as he listened to his Master, wondering what had happened to them all? He had spent the whole time locked in the motel room, pacing, pining, wondering if he would ever see his Masters again.
"This is what?" Sam asked, looking at his brother.
"Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, one dog with a severe burger addiction and Mr. Comatose over there. It's awesome."
Sabbath didn't understand what Dean was saying, he was simply glad to have his pack together again. Safe and alive. He gently pawed at his Master's leg, giving a soft bark, trying to tell him that he was pleased to see him...wishing he could cheer him up. Whatever had happened? It had shaken them all and Castiel had returned hurt.
But they had returned. That was what mattered to Sabbath...anything else could be fixed as long as he had his pack with him. He was sure of that much.
With a soft snort, Sabbath awoke and turned to check on Dean, his excitement sinking instantly as he realised he had been dreaming. Dean and Sam were still dead...he was still alone. It was horrible feeling, reminding Sabbath all too much of how he had felt as a puppy, jammed in that plastic bag until Sam had freed him and brought him home to Dean.
Home.
Where would that be now? Bobby's? Sabbath loved the older man, but the Auto Yard didn't feel like home to him at all. There had been too much pain there lately, too much sorrow.
Sabbath would never forget the night they had been forced to lock Sam up again in the panic room. Part of him had wanted to stand with Castiel and watch over Sam as he rode out the pain of withdrawal from demon blood. But there had been such misery and pain in Dean's eyes, that Sabbath had known where he was needed...
"You're not hungry cause inside you? You're already dead!"
Sabbath had heard the Horseman's words as he stood beside Sam, backing up one Master as they saved the other. Sam had saved his life against the two demons that had come for him and Sabbath was willing to trust his master even if he had been drinking demon blood, if it meant saving Dean and Castiel. But those words had hurt Dean deeply. The evidence of that was clear as Sabbath walked with his Master in Bobby's yard while Sam detoxed. He had remained right beside Dean, pressed into his leg to show he wasn't alone as his Master poured his heart out to the Heavens.
Surely the voice that had once spoken to Sabbath in a church, would help his Master now? Castiel was always there for Dean...
But there had been no signs, no voice to offer them assurance...and so Sabbath had instead. He had nuzzled and nudged Dean, leaning in against him as he cried, offering support with his presence that he knew was welcomed by the way Dean buried his fingers in Sabbath's coat and kept him close.
Weeks later, Sabbath had sat solemnly beside Bobby and his Masters as they watched a funeral pyre burn in that same Auto Yard.
It hadn't made sense to Sabbath why Bobby would mourn someone that smelt so...wrong. But the pain and anguish that had rolled off the man had been incredible. Sabbath had ignored the sharp words Bobby had snapped at him every time he tried to comfort the man by licking his hand or nudging his legs. The anger was borne from pain and loss, not true anger.
It was a grief now that Sabbath understood completely. His world was lying dead around him and Sabbath didn't know how to make it not hurt. How to deal with the emptiness inside him. The pain. He didn't want another set of hands to comfort him, feed him, take care of him. He wanted Dean. He wanted Sam...
What if Castiel didn't come back? What would Sabbath do if he had lost him too?
The motel door jiggled ever so slightly and Sabbath lifted his head from the bed, a growl rolling up deep from within his chest.
"Room Service...I need to restock the towels." A voice called from the other side.
Sabbath climbed off the bed and stalked towards the door, his growl deepening further. Whatever or whoever came through that door, they would regret it. He couldn't let them take his Masters. And they would, they would take them away in those strange plastic bags that Sabbath had seen bodies in before.
The door handle became still as Sabbath's growl grew in volume, saliva dripping from his muzzle.
"I'll come back later...and uh, sir? You're not supposed to have your dog actually in the room..."
Sabbath cocked his head as he heard footsteps moving away from the door, retreating it seemed. He sank to the floor, the tension uncoiling from his muscles. Others would come. He expected that...but they had to get inside first. Sabbath had made the mistake once of letting those hunters get the drop on him. It would never happen again.
Settling in, Sabbath kept his gaze locked on the door handle before him, his mind set now on what his duty was. He was the only thing between his masters and the outside world who would take them. They didn't know his pack, what they had done, the people they had helped. They would just be two more bodies to be carried away.
Sabbath wasn't having it.
Time seemed to crawl...if a dog could have any sense of time at all and Sabbath found himself drifting, dozing for stretches as his throbbing head continued to trouble him.
And then, startling Sabbath from his sleep and making him scramble to his feet in fright; desperate, gasping sounds filled the air behind him. Sam was now sat upright, his eyes wide in surprise as he sucked in breath greedily, one hand going to his chest where he should have still been sporting a gaping bloody chest wound.
Dean sat up a moment later, wide eyed and seemingly surprised to be breathing again as he coughed and looked down at his chest, seeing a bloody shirt but no wounds to speak of underneath.
"You alright?" Sam asked, breathlessly, relieved to see Dean alive beside him.
Dean lifted his eyes from his bloody shirt and gave his brother a look that clearly seemed to say are you kidding me? "Define alright..."
His memory was coming back to him in chunks, twisted between what he had seen in heaven and the reality of being back here on Earth again. How long had they been dead? Oh shit...Sabbath! Dean's gaze swung towards the door suddenly, recalling the last he had seen of Sabbath, lying bleeding on the floor. His heart was in his throat until he laid eyes on his faithful dog, cautiously watching him from the foot of the bed. It wouldn't have taken Roy and Walt much to put a bullet into Sabbath as an afterthought before walking out the door.
"Sabbath?" Someone had bandaged with his wounds with...was that island dressings? Dean scrambled off the bed and rushed over to Sabbath, checking him over, noting the half assed way the bandages had been put on. Whoever had done it had no idea about first aid at all.
"Cas?" Dean raised an eyebrow in question and was rewarded with a gruff bark from Sabbath in reply before he washed his Master's face furiously, relieved beyond belief that his pack was safe again. Castiel had kept his word it seemed...
xXx
Two hours later...
"Hey, quit scratching at them...you'll end up with bald spots." Dean pointed a stern finger at Sabbath as he tried to scratch at his island dressings on his muzzle. The throbbing headache had finally eased, but the dressings were pulling ever so slightly on his fur. Enough for them to itch and annoy him. But more than anything, the scratching was a welcome distraction from the mood that had settled over the room since Castiel had appeared as Sam and Dean finished their packing. Sabbath didn't understand what had upset his friend so deeply and set his Masters on edge. He just wanted to get on the road and put this all behind them, get hunting again as a pack.
"You son of a bitch..."
Sabbath paused in his scratching to look over at Castiel, cocking his head to one side as he watched the angel speaking to the ceiling...was he trying to talk to the voice from the church?
"I believed in-..."
Believed in what? Had his pack deserted him? The pack Castiel used to run with? Sabbath could understand him being upset if that was what had happened. No one wanted to be abandoned by their pack. Your pack was who defined you. How you knew your place in the world...
Castiel turned slowly, digging into his pocket to retrieve something before he threw it to Dean. "I don't need this anymore."
Sabbath's tail thumped gently on the bed as he recognised the amulet his Master had worn for a long time...until Castiel had asked for it. It was part of who Dean was, like the jacket and his car. Elements of Sabbath's Master that he was accustomed to seeing because like the collar Sabbath wore – those elements told Dean about his own pack, his heritage and bloodline. Who his family was. It was only right that Dean had the amulet back now.
"It's worthless."
Sabbath cocked his head again in confusion at Castiel's words. Worthless? No! That amulet wasn't worthless. It was part of Dean! So much wasn't making sense to him now. He could sense the despair and pain in his friend, but why? Why wasn't that voice talking to him? Had he been bad somehow? Was he being punished? Sometimes Dean would get quiet with Sabbath when he had done something wrong...but this? This felt more than that. It felt very wrong and Sabbath didn't know if he could make it better.
"Cas, wait!" Sam tried to intervene, refusing to believe that what Joshua had said was true. And what if it was? They didn't need God. They could make their own rules...fight this as a team. But Castiel was gone before Sam could make him listen. Fine...if Castiel was going to give in so easily? Sam would just have to rely on Dean. "We'll find another way. " He threw his soap bag onto the bed in frustration as he crossed the room. "We can still stop all this, Dean."
"How?"
Sabbath's tail thumped once, hesitantly, then stilled, sensing the dark mood in his Master.
Sam turned back towards his brother. "I don't know. But we'll find it. You and me...Sabbath. We'll find it."
Sabbath's tail thumped a little louder, a quiet rumble of agreement coming from Sabbath as he picked up on the tone of what Sam was saying. Yes! This was how it should be. The pack hunting and surviving by it's own rules. Watching each others backs.
Utter confusion filled Sabbath as he watched the way Dean's shoulders seemed to slump before he picked up and bag and headed for the door without a word. Sabbath slipped off the bed, a little unsure of himself as he padded slowly across the floor to where Sam was standing.
Dean stopped before the door and held his hand out over the waste paper basket, letting the amulet hang from his hand for a moment before he dropped it in the basket, then walked out to the car.
Sabbath looked up at Sam, seeing hurt in his Master's eyes. The amulet had been a gift once, it had meant something to Dean. What had changed? Charging forward, Sabbath retrieved the amulet from the basket and carried it back to Sam, dropping it at his feet before giving a small sharp bark.
Sam knelt down before him and the pain was as clear as day in his eyes. Pain and deep, deep sadness that things had come so far now. He picked up the amulet and studied it for a moment, cradled in the palm of his hand. Dean was being worn down. Broken by everything that was being thrown at them. But Sam wasn't about to go down without a fight. Not yet. He wasn't going to give into Lucifer like they all seemed to believe he would.
Reaching out, Sam slid the leather cord from the amulet around Sabbath's collar a few times to pick up the excess, then tied it off securely. He ran a hand over Sabbath's head. "Dean's going to want this back sometime...well, I hope he will, anyway. I want you to guard it for me, okay?"
Sabbath whined, and caught Sam's chin with a wet slurp of his tongue before Dean's voice rang out from the parking lot.
"Sabbath, get your ass in the car!"
"Come on..." Sam ruffled the German Shepard's head gently, then stood up again and grabbed his bag from the bed.
xXx
One week later...
It had taken a lot of phone calls back and forth to Bobby, tapping the hunter grapevine discreetly for information...but Dean was determined. After all, he had warned them.
The bar had emptied out twenty minutes ago and most of the patrons had staggered to their cars or fallen into cabs already. Now there only a few stragglers slipping out of the doors as the bar staff managed to persuade them to leave. So for the most part, the parking lot was quiet and full of shadows amongst the last few cars and pick ups that dotted the scene.
No one looked twice at the Impala parked against the far wall of the parking lot, hidden in darkness.
A man stumbled from the bar, lifting a hand in a weary wave to the bar maid. He wasn't exactly drunk. It never paid to get off your face in his line of work. But the whiskey had dulled the edges nicely and he knew his motel room wasn't too far away. A few quick minutes in his truck was all it would take.
"Evening, Walt..." Dean remarked amicably as he pushed himself off the hood of the Impala and blocked Walt's path to his truck. "I'll give you one thing...you weren't as easy to track down as I thought you'd be."
"Winchester?" Walt's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "No...we...we killed you."
"Yeah, you did." Dean nodded, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Not exactly the sort of thing a guy forgives. But when you gun down my little brother like he's something you hunt? It hurts my feelings. I warned you. I warned you both. I would have paid a visit to Roy too...but well, I guess he found out the hard way not to tangle with a demon huh? Damn shame..." The tone of Dean's voice spoke volumes about how just so very much he wasn't sorry to hear that Roy was dead already.
"Dean...it was nothing personal. Your brother's not one of us. He started the freaking apocolypse!"
"Actually? We both did." Dean growled, thinking back to Alastair's words that night. Sam couldn't shoulder this alone. They'd both been played and Dean was sick of it. So sick of it all. "But you're wrong, Walt. You break into my room and shoot my brother? Shoot me? That makes it VERY personal. Right boy?"
Sabbath stepped out from Dean's shadow at that moment, saliva dripping from his fangs as his lips drew back in a deadly snarl. This human had tried to take his pack from him and no matter what they were fighting against now, how hard it was to try and hold them all together? Sabbath would never tolerate someone hurting his Masters.
"Take him down." Dean ordered firmly, standing back as he watched Walt spin on his heel with a shocked cry, trying to run for the safety of the bar. Sabbath launched forward like a shot out of gun, easily covering the distance between him and Walt, latching onto the hunter and dragging him down. His fangs tore through the thin sleeve of Walt's jacket and sank to the bone, shredding flesh and tasting blood.
Walt screamed in agony, trying to shake himself loose, kicking and flailing, landing blows on Sabbath's head that caused the German Shepard to yelp in pain, but latch on harder.
"Sabbath, enough!" Dean yelled, smirking coldly as he watched Sabbath let go immediately and back off, trotting back to his Master's side with what Dean would swear was a air of satisfaction about him.
Walt was curled up, clutching his mangled arm against him as he tried to staunch the blood that spurted and oozed from the multitude of bites and tears in his flesh.
"You get to a hospital quick enough...they might be able to save your arm. But I wouldn't put money on it..." Dean turned on his heel, slapping his thigh lightly to call Sabbath into step with him as he headed back for the Impala. Sam was waiting for them in their motel room, expecting burgers and coffee when they returned.
As the Impala pulled out of the parking lot, Dean glanced over at Sabbath, noting with a wry grin that he would need to shower him when they got back. The dog was covered in blood and Dean was pretty sure he saw a smile on Sabbath's face right now. He'd spied the amulet a few days ago and figured Sam had tied it there. Fine...let Sabbath wear it.
For Dean, it had always been a symbol of love. Protection against the evil out there for the wearer...who in turn, was protecting the people they loved. That was why it had been meant for Dad...and passed over to him. So Dean was happy to let Sabbath wear it. He'd more than earned his stripes as the protector of his family. Understanding more about loyalty than most people Dean had met in his life.
Dean didn't know what was coming. Whether he would be able to save Sam from Lucifer...or himself from Michael. For all he knew? They were both screwed and time was running out. But Dean would go down swinging...and he knew Sabbath would be there all the way with him.